It was a bright and cheerful afternoon, Towards the end of the sunny month of June, When the north wind congregates in crowds The floating mountains of the silver clouds...
Our boat is asleep on Serchio's stream, Its sails are folded like thoughts in a dream, The helm sways idly, hither and thither; Dominic, the boatman, has brought the mast,...
1. I arise from dreams of thee In the first sweet sleep of night, When the winds are breathing low, And the stars are shining bright: I arise from dreams of thee, And a spirit in my feet...
The stars may dissolve, and the fountain of light May sink into ne'er ending chaos and night, Our mansions must fall, and earth vanish away, But thy courage O Erin! may never decay. ...
A Sensitive Plant in a garden grew, And the young winds fed it with silver dew, And it opened its fan-like leaves to the light. And closed them beneath the kisses of Night. ...
1. Dar'st thou amid the varied multitude To live alone, an isolated thing? To see the busy beings round thee spring, And care for none; in thy calm solitude,...
There late was One within whose subtle being, As light and wind within some delicate cloud That fades amid the blue noon's burning sky, Genius and death contended. None may know...
FIRST SPIRIT: O thou, who plumed with strong desire Wouldst float above the earth, beware! A Shadow tracks thy flight of fire - Night is coming! Bright are the regions of the air,...
Is it the Eternal Triune, is it He Who dares arrest the wheels of destiny And plunge me in the lowest Hell of Hells? Will not the lightning's blast destroy my frame?...
Sweet star, which gleaming o'er the darksome scene Through fleecy clouds of silvery radiance fliest, Spanglet of light on evening's shadowy veil, Which shrouds the day-beam from the waveless lake,...
1. Thus to be lost and thus to sink and die, Perchance were death indeed! - Constantia, turn! In thy dark eyes a power like light doth lie, Even though the sounds which were thy voice, which burn...
1. The keen stars were twinkling, And the fair moon was rising among them, Dear Jane! The guitar was tinkling, But the notes were not sweet till you sung them Again.
1. How, my dear Mary, are you critic-bitten (For vipers kill, though dead) by some review, That you condemn these verses I have written, Because they tell no story, false or true?...
My dearest Mary, wherefore hast thou gone, And left me in this dreary world alone? Thy form is here indeed - a lovely one - But thou art fled, gone down the dreary road,...